


The Vanishing Point

by easyluckyfree45



Series: Riverdale Bingo Summer 2020 [2]
Category: Archie Comics, Archie Comics & Related Fandoms, Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Future, Art, Artists, F/M, Improvised Sex Toys, Museums, Painting, Shameless Smut, Smut, basically an excuse for me to write a lot of smut, i'm not sorry about it, painter!jughead
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:02:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25559272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/easyluckyfree45/pseuds/easyluckyfree45
Summary: She doesn’t focus on the fact that the first man that she’s ever met that makes her feel fluttering butterflies in her stomach, who is genuinely passionate and interested in what she loves, and is the most stunningly gorgeous man she’s ever seen is someone that is just out of her reach.This can only last these next few days and then he’ll be gone. She’ll become a distant memory to him, perhaps a muse that he thinks of every few months when he lacks inspiration. She is not his constant.They are like two parallel lines that meet here, at this point in time in convergence, but will always fade into the distance -- a vanishing point that will eventually fade into the background, an evanescent memory.She wants more. She doesn’t know how to ask for it so she doesn’t.Instead she centers herself on the feel of his lips against hers and how it feels when he touches her face so gently, cradling her cheek as he pulls her closer.Riverdale Bingo Summer 2020 - Painter AU
Relationships: Betty Cooper & Jughead Jones, Betty Cooper/Jughead Jones
Series: Riverdale Bingo Summer 2020 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1847086
Comments: 34
Kudos: 164
Collections: 8th Bughead Fanfiction Awards - Nominees, Riverdale Bingo, Riverdale Bingo Summer 2020





	The Vanishing Point

**Author's Note:**

> I am 98% sure that this prompt was not meant to inspire smut YET HERE WE ARE. Y'all already know what's up - read the tags, you know what you clicked on. I know I’m filthy but I really don’t care. Enjoyyyyyy.
> 
> As always, thank you a million times, Jana ([latenightcoffeetalks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/latenightcoffeetalks/pseuds/latenightcoffeetalks)). You are wonderful! 
> 
> Written for Riverdale Bingo Summer 2020 - Prompt: Painter AU
> 
> Caspar David Friedrich - [Wanderer Above the Sea of Fog](https://images.app.goo.gl/wPw7Aja9xce76CS27)
> 
> _“You pierce my soul. I am half agony, half hope.”_ \- from _Persuasion_ by the great Jane Austen.

**A vanishing point, or point of convergence, is a key element in many works of art. In a linear perspective drawing, the vanishing point is the spot on the horizon line to which the receding parallel lines diminish.**

_Pick it up, as if you found peace of mind in shattered sound_  
_Wonder why you can’t be found_  
_Don’t wait up, it’ll be okay_  
_Though it’s coming at me like a tidal wave_  
_Heaven starts when you’re by my side_  
_Hurry up, leave it all behind_  
_Fickle love, I’ll call you out_

_“Tidal Wave” by Old Sea Brigade_

“Kevin, absolutely not. Don’t give me that look. I flat out refuse to do this,” Betty says, not even bothering to look up from her computer monitor. She scrolls a few pages through the latest Sotheby’s auction catalogue.

“Can you stop working for one minute?” Kevin waves his hand in front of her screen and she glances up, annoyance and frustration on her face.

“I don’t deal with living artists.” She pushes his arms away and narrows her eyes. “They’re all megalomaniacs with egos too big to fit through the doors of this museum.”

“I’m not asking you to marry him. I just need you to take him on a quick little tour while I charm some donors at this last-minute brunch event.” Kevin pushes his hands together into a pleading motion. “You’d really be saving my ass, Betty, please. You know I wouldn’t ask unless I really need your help.”

Betty lets out a prolonged sigh and places her palms flat against her desk. “Fine,” she relents. “But.” She points her finger directly in Kevin’s face. “You owe me big time.” She crosses her arms in front of her chest with a smirk. “Get me a ticket to the Met Gala next year.”

“That’s a $35,000 ticket, Betty. I cannot-”

“I know for a fact that our museum gets 4 courtesy tickets a year.”

“Yeah, those are reserved for the chief curator and the director.” Kevin practically hisses out.

Betty smiles at him smugly. “That is my asking price.”

Kevin considers making an obscene gesture before he falls back against the chair and starts to cradle his temple. “Fine.”

She claps her palms together excitedly. “Great! So this guy’s name is Forsythe? He sounds like a fuddy duddy.”

“He’s like a modern day Rauschenberg. He utilizes a lot of collages and non-traditional materials.”

“Wow, I can’t believe you don’t consider Rauschenberg modern. I’m going to have to re-evaluate all that I’ve been taught.” Betty snorts. She grabs her badge from her desk and clips it onto her skirt. “Well, I guess there’s no point in delaying this.”

“I’ve heard he’s hot as hell, if that helps.”

“That doesn’t help me at all.”

000000000000000000000000000000000000000

Betty gathers her hair up in a low bun as she looks around the rotunda. There’s certainly no one there that looks like ‘Forsythe’. Kevin didn’t really give her much to go on. His best description of Forsythe is hot so it isn’t the most helpful of adjectives.

She sighs and readjusts her badge, hoping that it would at least encourage this Forsythe to approach her. She looks down at her phone for the tenth time and sends Kevin a quick text.

 **Betty:** I thought you said he was already here.

 **Kevin:** Oh do you not see him? He’s the hot one.

 **Betty:** Yeah, you said that already.

Before Kevin could respond, she hears someone clear their throat next to her. Her first thought is that his Keds have paint splatters all over them.

“Elizabeth?”

Well, Kevin is right. Forsythe is hot.

She stares at him for a moment, briefly stunned by the depths of his blue eyes and the most seductive curl of his hair. She wants to reach out and wrap her finger around the stray lock and then trace her fingertips along his collar bone. He has the most alluring neck, his skin perfectly olive and sun-kissed.

She stops herself from reaching out and touching him. That would be weird.

She clears her throat. “I’m Betty Cooper. I’m a curator in the Education department. You must be Forsythe Jones.” She reaches her hand out.

He takes it and she feels a shock of electricity wind up her spine at his touch. “Please, call me Jughead.”

His grip is firm and she can feel the warmth emanating from him. She retracts her hand after a few prolonged moments and nods towards the marble staircase in front of them.

“Shall we?”

“After you.”

Betty takes each step, one by one, a familiar movement that she’s done day in and day out. She sucks in a breath. She can do this. She does this all the time. It doesn’t matter if he is the most painfully attractive man that she’s set eyes on in the recent past.

She’s a professional. She could do this.

“So what are you interested in seeing today?” This is simple. It’s just an average, everyday, nothing special or spectacular about this tour.

“I’m a big fan of the Romantic era.”

“Oh perfect! We actually just installed a few loans from that period in one of the galleries so I can show you those.” She tips her head towards the right and he follows her through a series of rooms.

When they step into the space, she hears Jughead take in a deep breath.

“Wow,” he says simply.

She walks a little further in. “I like to call it a mini-exhibition since it’s only composed of this gallery but the works are truly stunning. Though few, it’s enough to make an impression.” She points out a painting in the corner of the room. “This is on loan from the Hamburg Kunsthalle. Caspar David Friedrich’s _Wanderer Above the Sea of Fog_.”

It’s a composition made up of clouds and a sole figure in the center. The man wears a dark overcoat and seems to stare off into the distant landscape with a mass of fog surrounding him. He stands on a massive pointed and craggy rock.

“The vanishing point is in the man,” Jughead observes. He leans forward and takes in the painting, immersed in the bold strokes and textures. “All the converging lines end with him.”

“Very poetic and typical for the Romantic era, don’t you think? Nature is overwhelming and dominant in this but the center is still the heart, the emotions of man.”

He raises an eyebrow, impressed by her description. “You sure you’re not a writer?”

She lets out a light tinkling laugh. “Well, I do write sometimes but most of what I do is actually edit. I’m the head of interpretation of all the artwork in the museum.”

“Wow, so they really sent out the big guns, didn’t they?”

Betty cocked her head to the side, slightly confused. “What do you mean?”

“You’re clearly of a different caliber. I’m just surprised that the museum thought that I was such an important artist. I would consider myself mid-level at best.”

“Aren’t you exhibiting at the Biennale next month?”

He shrugs modestly. “Maybe a little bit above mid-level then.”

“You are certainly an unusual artist, Mr. Jones,” she says teasingly.

A faint pink appears on his cheeks and he clears his throat, distracting them both. He points back at the painting. “I like the title.”

Betty nods in agreement. “I think it’s poetic, really. It just sounds like such a dream, wanderer above the sea of fog. That would definitely be on my bucket list -- to be immersed in the clouds like this.”

She stares at the undulating swirls in the paint, completely bewitched. When she finally snaps back to the present, she glances back at him and sees that he has focused all his attention on her. He looks away quickly.

“Shall we continue?” She asks.

He nods gratefully.

00000000000000000000000000000000000000

Life as an artist is both more glamorous and harder than she expects it to be.

She’s always been on the other side: studying art instead of making it, having the stability of a fancy museum job instead of traveling the world, promoting one’s artwork and making a name for oneself. He’s always traveling, moving from one point to another, never settling down, never sitting still.

She thinks it’s both daunting and alluring, the life of an artist.

Jughead is so humble; the complete opposite of what she expects from a world-famous artist, not at all pretentious or cocky. He’s passionate about his work. She can tell by the way that he talks about it.

That first day they met, they wandered around the galleries for hours. It was only supposed to be a one hour tour. But they seemed to get lost in each other and the artwork around them. He showed her what inspires him and she found herself wanting to learn more about him.

Several hours later, after having both lunch and coffee with him, she realizes that it’s mid-afternoon and she’s spent the whole day with him by accident.

She didn’t end up doing any work that day but she didn’t care -- being with him just felt right.

He’s here in the city for another few days before he moves onto Houston to attend another art fair. She doesn’t let her overthinking mind take over and instead simply enjoys being with him in the moment. It will all pass away so quickly regardless and she wants to spend what little time she has with him actually enjoying his company rather than wondering about what they are and what they could be.

00000000000000000000000000000000000000000

Betty’s favorite pastry is a chocolate croissant.

It’s perfectly fluffy and decadent, both buttery and chocolatey. She only lets herself indulge in it every few months; her mother’s incessant nagging about her weight has lasting effects on her and even now, as an adult, she can still hear Alice’s voice chastising her.

She leads Jughead to her favorite bakery in the city and he pouts when he sees the long line leading up to it.

“They give you samples while you wait, don’t worry,” she reassures.

“I don’t want just samples though. Can I buy a pastry to eat while I wait?”

She giggles lightly and gives him a look. “We just had brunch.”

“That was 30 minutes ago. I’m hungry again.”

She shakes her head and hands him a menu. “So I would recommend the chocolate croissant or the kouign amann. Oooo!” She points at another item. “The nutella milk bread is also delightful.”

“So I’ll get all three.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Really? That’s ambitious.”

“You will come to learn, Betts, that I have an insatiable hunger.” He winks at her as he says this and she can’t help but blush.

The line moves a lot faster than expected and after another 20 minutes of waiting, they exit the cute but cramped bakery with bags and bags full of pastries. They walk to a neighboring park and sit on the benches, eagerly devouring their bounty.

Jughead splits everything in half, insisting that Betty at least has a bite of the milk bread and kouign amann. After some minor protesting, she cedes that she will have one bite of each.

It’s delightfully sinful, just as she remembers. She moans a little before swallowing the buttery delight before returning her attention to her chocolate croissant.

He takes a big bite of each pastry and looks thoughtful, assessing the flavor profile of every pastry.

“So what’s the verdict? What’s your favorite?”

“The chocolate croissant,” he decides.

“Are you saying that because that’s my favorite?” She teases, bumping him in the shoulder.

“Of course not. I just happen to like it the best.”

She thinks he’s lying but she doesn’t care. It’s sweet. She leans forward and catches his lips softly. He tastes like cinnamon and chocolate, a heady combination. She presses further into him, deepening the kiss, completely losing herself in him.

She doesn’t focus on the fact that the first man that she’s ever met that makes her feel fluttering butterflies in her stomach, who is genuinely passionate and interested in what she loves, and is the most stunningly gorgeous man she’s ever seen is someone that is just out of her reach.

This can only last these next few days and then he’ll be gone. She’ll become a distant memory to him, perhaps a muse that he thinks of every few months when he lacks inspiration. She is not his constant.

They are like two parallel lines that meet here, at this point in time in convergence, but will always fade into the distance -- a vanishing point that will eventually fade into the background, an evanescent memory.

She wants more. She doesn’t know how to ask for it so she doesn’t.

Instead she centers herself on the feel of his lips against hers and how it feels when he touches her face so gently, cradling her cheek as he pulls her closer.

000000000000000000000000000000000000

He rents a temporary studio that is attached to a one-bedroom apartment every time that he’s in the city. She’s actually never set foot in an artist studio before. She meant what she said to Kevin; she doesn’t deal with living artists.

It’s an expansive space composed of brick and concrete. It reminds her of an old warehouse and she’s not surprised when Jughead tells her that this used to be an old shoe factory that they converted into studios and apartments.

He leads her into the main area and she sees a giant unstretched canvas laying on the floor. There are paint splatters all over it yet it appears to be unfinished.

“Is this your next project?”

“It is.” He nods.

He starts to unbutton his dress shirt and her eyes widen in both surprise and confusion. He smirks at her response.

“I don’t want to get my clothes dirty. This is one of three nice shirts that I own,” he explains.

He’s wearing a tight white t-shirt that molds his body underneath the dress shirt and she tries her best not to stare at the way his muscles contract with his movements. He opens his paint tubes and squeezes a bit of each selected color onto the palette. He takes a large flat brush and dips it into the red pigment.

He’s starting with red. It’s a bold decision but she’s not surprised. That’s his style -- eccentric and fearless. He steps onto the canvas and bends over, starting to paint. Her eyes follow his strokes and she’s absolutely entranced.

It’s like a dance.

His movements are so graceful as he moves along the canvas, painting all the way. She’s not even sure what he’s painting. It’s all a bit abstract at this point but she can tell that it will be beautiful. He takes a mop brush and dips it into a navy blue and with one sharp flick, it splatters across the canvas, covering parts of the red.

She takes a seat at the edge of the canvas. She shrugs off her jean jacket, dressed only in a pink dress. It’s a little chilly in the studio which makes sense given the high ceilings and long, wide windows. She doesn’t care though. The only thing that she can focus on right now is the way he paints.

He’s beautiful. The art that he is creating is also beautiful; it’s almost poetic. With every lift of his arm, the paint splatters and writes a passage across the canvas, creating the most lyrical verse.

Something twinges in her chest but she ignores the feeling. She’s not thinking about that tonight.

His white shirt is covered with paint smudges and she understands why he took off his dress shirt now. It’s messy. Making art is messy.

She doesn’t know how long she’s spent watching him work but her butt is starting to get a little numb against the hard floor. She fidgets for a moment and her eyes go completely wide when she looks up.

He lifts his dirtied shirt up above his head and throws it to the side. She can see why. It’s completely covered with paint and briefly she wonders if he usually paints without a shirt on.

His chest is toned and well-defined. She can see his abdominal muscles clearly and before she knows what she’s doing she’s standing up and kicking off her sandals. She pads across the canvas, walking straight across the paint, smudging and leaving imprints in the artwork as she does so.

When Jughead sees her approach, his face is intrigued and slightly confused. It’s the most adorable expression. She stands in front of him, her head tilted upwards to look directly at him. She can feel the nerves start to crawl up within her. She pushes them down.

She reaches her arm up and encircles his neck and pulls him down, giving him a hard and passionate kiss. He drops the palette and brush to his feet and returns the kiss with equal fervor. His hands cradle her face as he pulls her in further and then move down to her neck and then the tops of her breasts.

She breathes in heavily and pushes into his hands. He cups her through the fabric but it’s not enough contact and she lets out a sigh of frustration. She tugs at the thin spaghetti straps and pulls her dress down. It pools at her feet and she kicks it off to the side, away from the canvas.

She stands in a simple bra and panties. They’re comfortable; it’s not seductive lingerie. The uncertainty builds up within her again and he seems to notice this.

His hands come up to her face and he lifts her chin up, blue eyes staring into green.

“You’re stunning. You’re the most exquisite creature I’ve ever seen,” he whispers softly before he kisses her again.

The words are all she needs. She gives into her desires as she fumbles with his belt, undoing it and pulling it straight from his jeans. Her fingers shake slightly as she unbuttons him and she feels like she’s buzzing with need.

It’s suddenly so warm. His skin burns against her touch and she just wants to let him ignite her.

He shucks off his jeans and bends down to his knees, pressing his face up against her stomach, placing light kisses all over her abdomen. She sighs in pleasure and runs his hands through his hair. He slips off her underwear and spreads her legs a bit wider. She holds onto his shoulders and giggles.

“Juggie, I’ll fall.”

“No, you won’t. I’ve got you,” he says, looking up at her with a glint in his eyes. He winks and her cheeks redden.

He starts with her clit, flicking his tongue out at it. She stumbles a little against him and he holds onto her hips, steadying her. He sucks at her nub, relishing in the taste that is distinctively hers. He sneaks a glance up and sees that her head is thrown back in pleasure. Her hands thread through his raven locks and he continues his assault on her. He moves slightly to her center and pushes his tongue inside her. She teeters again but he catches her every time.

He brings one hand to her pussy and pushes a finger in, curling inside her. He pumps into her a few times, loving to watch the look on her face as she edges closer and closer to the precipice. She kicks her foot out and hits a few of his painting supplies. They roll towards him and he smirks as he gets an idea.

He removes his fingers and grabs the round brush. Flipping it over so the blunt tip of the handle faces up, he takes it and traces her outer lips of her center with it. She bites her lip. It feels cool and hard, a different sensation from his fingers. He continues to tease her with it. She grips his forearm tightly and he throws the brush off to the side.

He puts his mouth on her again and she lets out a low moan. She’s soaked and he loves the taste of her. It completely surrounds his every sense and he wants to be enveloped in her forever. His tongue curls inside her and he nudges his nose against her clit. He adds a finger, and it’s all that she needs to push over the edge.

She falls into him as she comes and he holds onto her tightly, gently lowering her to the ground as she comes down from her orgasm. Her fingers tingle and start to numb and she blinks a few times before returning back to the present.

He brushes the damp hair out of her face and kisses her gently. He looks at her like she’s the most beautiful thing and she doesn’t know how to feel.

She unhooks her bra and pulls him closer. He slides his underwear off and they roll together on the canvas, paint smudging against the artwork and their body parts.

She laughs when she sees a streak of red paint along his shoulder. She rubs at it.

“We’re making a mess.”

“I don’t care.” He hovers over her and smiles down. He’s so handsome. She loves the way that his eyes crinkle at the corners when he’s joyous. He is the best thing that she’s ever seen.

She kisses him again and gasps when she feels his cock nudge at her center.

“I need you,” she says softly between kisses.

He rolls off of her for a second, fumbling through his jeans. He pulls out his wallet and the condom that he stashed inside. He returns to her in an instant and holds it up with a triumphant smile. She rolls her eyes at him.

“Hurry up,” she complains.

He rips the foil with his teeth and rolls the condom on in one go. He moves over her and stares into her evergreen eyes. She bites her lower lip and traces her fingertips along his arms, enjoying the way that his body feels on top of her.

She wraps her legs around him and then he’s pushing inside her in one smooth stroke, bottoming out. His forehead drops to her shoulder and he lets out a strained gasp.

“God, you feel amazing,” he says against her skin.

She murmurs her agreement and arches into him as he starts to move inside her. His strokes are long and powerful and she feels like he’s hitting every part inside of her that she never even knew existed. She moves with him, their bodies in sync. Her breath feels tight against her chest as his thrusts get faster and sloppier. She knows she’s moaning loudly but she can’t stop herself. She watches in fascination as his muscles in his arms pulse as he thrusts into her.

She sees a single drop of sweat start to form on his face and it curves the side of his cheek before it falls down on her. She wants it. She wants every part of him.

Her legs start to burn and she knows that she’ll ache tomorrow. She needs it; she needs this memory of him.

When she comes, she feels like her whole body lifts off the ground. Her vision blurs slightly and there’s a moan that’s ripped from her chest. He thrusts into her once, twice, and then a third and final time and he groans against her skin, the sound coming out strangled before he collapses into her.

They lie there, a sweaty mess of entangled limbs, both panting and trying to catch their breath. He turns to her and touches her face that’s marked with bits of paint, his other arm gently rubbing small circles into her back.

“I don’t want to leave,” he says honestly.

“I know,” she responds. She inches closer and gives him a passionate kiss, pouring all of herself into it.

She doesn’t think about tomorrow. Tonight her focus is purely on him and the way that he makes her feel.

Tomorrow is hours away. They still have this time.

0000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

**4 months later**

Kevin loops his arm through Betty’s as they walk through the glass doors and into the gallery space. She doesn’t even remember what art show this is. Kevin had told her there would be free wine and cheese and that was enough to convince her.

Her sensible heels clack against the cement ground and she grabs a glass of champagne off a table. She flips through the exhibition catalogue mindlessly before Kevin pulls her to the main display space.

It’s all contemporary art and very modern.

She will never begin to understand this type of artwork so she doesn’t really pay much attention as she walks through the exhibition. She sips at her drink, moving from one painting to the next with no real end goal in sight. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees a flash of red and navy blue. She cocks her head to the side, curious, and starts to walk towards it.

There’s something oddly familiar about this painting.

It’s a giant oil on canvas that spans the entire height and width of a wall. It hangs alone which makes sense. It’s such a prominent and captivating piece that it holds the space by itself. At the base, there’s streaks of red and splatters of blue. She thinks she sees the fabric of what used to be a white t-shirt attached to the bottom left corner. There are printed images that run along the border and lines of blurred text.

She leans in closer and starts to read.

_To my darling wanderer above the sea of fog: I have traveled the world searching for anything that matched the beauty of your green eyes. You haunt me and pierce my soul. I am half agony, half hope that I will find my way back to you one day._

Her eyes are watering and she holds a hand to her lips, completely shocked. She lets out a small gasp. Vaguely, she hears someone approach her and stand next to her but she can’t look. She simply stares at the painting.

It’s their painting.

She hears someone clearing their throat to her side, a familiar sound. She looks down and sees a pair of Keds that have paint splatters all over them.

She turns around.

00000000000000000000000000000000000000


End file.
